by F J messina
In the ensuing silence, Jet stopped and tilted her head, a curious look on her face.
“I should have known a detective wouldn’t have any trouble finding me. I’ll see you at six then.” Sonia ended the call. She smiled at Jet and said in one of Jet’s voices. “He wants me.” She batted her eyelashes. “He wants me real, real bad.”
Jet’s smile matched Sonia’s. “Oh yeah? And how would you know that?”
“Because he sat downstairs in Magee’s for a whole hour this morning hoping,” she made air quotes, “to ‘run into me.’ And since that didn’t work out, he’s taking me to Joe Bolonga’s for dinner. That’s how.”
“Well bless his little heart.”
Sonia chuckled. That was one of the few down-home country expressions Jet hadn’t been able to eliminate from her vocabulary. Sonia looked down at her phone. “It’s almost twelve-thirty. This coffee’s not going to be enough. I’m going downstairs to get something to eat, and then I’m going across the street to meet with Brad. Want to come?”
“To lunch?”
“To lunch and to the meeting. Do you want in on the Hensley case?”
Jet looked directly at Sonia, and Sonia could feel the warmth in her eyes. “Listen, thanks for the offer, but there are two reasons I can’t get involved, at least right now.”
“And those are?”
“Well, somebody’s got to earn some damn money around here, and traipsing through the mud in the middle of the night with you is not going to get that done.”
“And?”
“Aaand, it sounds to me like you and Mr. Hotstuff might just be on your way to a meeting of something . . . more than your minds. I don’t want to interfere with that . . . although it does seem that Detective Sergeant Adams is definitely intent on doing precisely that.” Jet’s voice was Southern Belle now. “My, my, how a girl has to struggle when the men line up to get just a moment’s time with her. Oh, I believe this is all givin’ me the vapors.” She feigned passing out and dropped her head to her desk.
Sonia stood. “And with that, I’m outta here. I’ll let you know what happens with Captain Dunham.”
Jet’s head popped up, her southern accent thicker than ever. “Oh, it’s Captain Dunham. I wonder how that makes Sergeant Adams feel. Will you let me know how things go with Sergeant Adams as well?”
Sonia headed for the door. “Get a life, Jet.” And then over her shoulder, “Listen, I can only be with one of them at a time. I’ll send the other one your way.”
“I’ll be waiting.” Jet called out, and Sonia recognized it as the voice of a woman whose friend was finally catching a break.
21
Precisely at two o’clock, after a light lunch and an unexpected conversation with an old acquaintance from her days at the school district, Sonia crossed the street, walked up the few steps, and entered the hall of the white house. Turning left, she knocked on the door, turned the smooth new handle, and waited for that deep voice. Nothing came, so she knocked again, this time louder. Finally, she heard, “Come in,” and a smile flickered across her face.
She opened the door. “Good afternoon Captain Dunham.”
Brad stood to greet her. “Hi.”
“It is Captain Dunham, isn’t it? Isn’t that what’s engraved on the plate that’s with your Marine Corps flag.”
“Was captain. I enjoyed my years with NCIS, but once you were assigned there, you sort of stepped out of the normal flow of routine promotions. Honestly, being a captain was okay by me. Get much beyond that and you’re stuck doing administrative work the rest of your life. I liked being out in the field. The captain thing suited me just fine.”
“Well, it’s better than sergeant,” Sonia said quietly to herself.
“What?”
“Oh, I just said I was glad it suited you.”
Brad looked at her, his face clearly showing that he wasn’t buying her last statement. “Look, I’ve got some stuff for us. Come over here and let me show you what our electronic surveillance picked up earlier today.”
Together, they walked over to the table on which the surveillance computer perched. Sonia stood right next to Brad. She watched a video segment he had selected out of the morning’s recordings. She missed the first moments of it, however, since her mind was distracted by his smell. Manly. Earthy. She wondered. Is it a cologne, or maybe just soap and deodorant? Or is it just him? His essence?
“Well?” Brad said.
“Well?”
“Well, what do you think?”
Sonia had been caught, lost in thinking about Brad. She tried to recover with, “I’m not sure, let me see it again.”
Brad gave her another funny look, but he played the video again. This time Sonia gave it her full attention.
“That’s it. That’s the truck. That’s the Mid-West Feed and Hay truck, and it sure as hell doesn’t look like they’re unloading feed or hay.” She smiled broadly at Brad.
“Well, you’re right and you’re wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Sonia’s face turned warm and she looked again at the screen, afraid she’d missed something important.
“You’re absolutely right, they sure as hell aren’t unloading feed or hay.”
“But?”
“But, that’s not the Mid-West Feed and Hay truck.”
She looked back to the screen again. “Sure it is. It looks exactly like the truck I’ve seen before, even down to the magnetic signs.”
“Well, a few things come to mind.” He tipped his head and smiled at her. “First, how often does a successful company use magnetic signs on their trucks? They almost always have their logo or information painted on the truck. Second, note the unusual spelling of Mid-West. Most Americans would correctly spell it m-i-d-w-e-s-t, with no hyphen. Finally, and I do believe this is the clincher . . .” Brad paused.
“What? What?”
He smiled at her. “There is no Mid-West Feed and Hay Company. The whole thing is bogus.”
“How do you know that?” Her eyebrows furrowed.
“Former NCIS agents still have friends who have access to computer information that would blow you away. According to my source, which must remain nameless for obvious reasons, there is no Mid-West Feed and Hay Company anywhere in the continental United States or any of its territories. For that matter, nowhere in North America, South America, or Europe.” Brad put his hand to his chin and raised one eyebrow. “I guess they could be based out of Antarctica.”
“Good work, Sherlock. We’re definitely on to something, aren’t we?” She shuddered inwardly. Was that “Sherlock” comment too much?
Brad didn’t react. Looking down at her, he smiled and said, “We’re definitely on to something,” He’d said it in a way that felt inclusive to Sonia.
After a pause to think things through, Sonia asked, “What now? How do we proceed from here?”
Brad walked over to his desk and sat down. He motioned for her to do the same. Remembering the feeling of sinking into the chairs across from his desk─a subordinate position─she remained standing.
Brad didn’t seem to notice. “Well, it seems clear to me that those packages wrapped in white plastic are drugs, probably cocaine. So now our surveillance strategy changes. We can no longer just wait to check the video after things happen. We’re going to have to start monitoring the feed in real time. The next time the truck pulls in we should have about a half-hour to position ourselves to follow Marcos, or one of his compatriots, to see where those drugs are going.”
Making a note on his calendar, Brad continued. “Now it seems that the deliveries are being made during the day. That’s probably because if you’re supposedly delivering farm supplies, it’s actually less noticeable to work during the day than at night. So, we won’t have to monitor the feed 24-7. But starting tomorrow we’re going to have to figure out a way to watch those feeds for most of the day.”
Sonia leaned forward, putting her hands on the edge of Brad’s desk. “That’s not going to be e
asy.” She was enjoying the fact that she felt that he and she were working shoulder to shoulder at the moment.
“You’re absolutely correct, my dear, this is not going to be easy with just the two of us. Clearly, we’re going to need some help. Any ideas?”
“Jet. Jet can do it.” As soon as she said it, however, Sonia regretted speaking so quickly. What if Jet is still not on board? What if I have to come back and say she won’t do it? Sonia desperately didn’t want to seem like some sort of a loose cannon to Brad, and Jet had made it pretty clear she wasn’t yet willing to work on the Hensley “case.”
“Are you sure?” Brad asked as if he sensed the second-guessing going on in Sonia’s mind.
Sonia stepped back and stood a bit taller. “She’ll help. We’re friends, we’re partners. She’ll help if I ask her . . . nicely.” The last of those words came out much softer than the rest. Still, Sonia did believe she could count on Jet. If she couldn’t, maybe their relationship wasn’t what she thought it was.
22
Good,” said Brad, “with Jet’s help we should be able to keep track of what’s going on at the farm. And we don’t all have to watch the surveillance feeds from my computers here. We can send that signal anywhere.”
“I can make that happen. Remember, technology is my thing.” Then, Sonia remembered it was Brad who had set up the whole surveillance system. She had been out tramping through the mud. Of course he could do that. Still, she wanted him to know, and acknowledge, that she was bringing something to the table as well.
Brad stood and walked back to the surveillance computer. “Oh, I know, sweetheart. I haven’t forgotten. I’ve got big plans for you and your techiness.”
Sonia’s heart flipped. Sweetheart? Was that a little term of endearment? Or was that sheer sexism?
Brad continued without a pause. “Remember all that high-tech equipment on top of the farmhouse?”
Sonia walked up behind him, hoping she hadn’t missed something else. She peered at the screen.
“Well, I believe that if we can hack into that system, we may be able to find out a whole lot about the operations of the Mid-West Feed and Hay Company. And that may well lead us to a much better understanding of what happened to John Abbott Hensley last week.” Brad turned and looked directly at her, waiting for a response. Getting none, he asked, “Do you know how to hack a sophisticated system?”
Sonia took an unconscious step backward. Crap. I was in the top ten percent of my class in a top-notch computer science program, but they never got around to teaching us illegal techniques like hacking into a truly sophisticated system. And I just played the “remember-technology-is-my-thing” card. “Look, I . . . I certainly understand the basic concepts of hacking. But if it’s really a sophisticated system it might take me quite a while to work my way in.”
She looked into Brad’s eyes and knew immediately that he wasn’t buying it, that he knew she probably could never hack into that system. She took another unconscious step backward. Is he going to hammer me now? Embarrass me? Drop the case and leave me on my own right now, just when we’re really getting started?
Brad’s piercing blue eyes seemed to cut right into her, right into where she was feeling so vulnerable. “You’re probably right,” he said, turning his attention back to the computer. “And we don’t have time to wait a day or two for you to get in. Is it alright if I get you some help?”
Sonia was almost speechless. Both he and she knew that this task was beyond her experience, but he had let her off the hook, gently. A sudden warmth rushed through her body, to her face, to her chest, to other places. “Yes. That’ll be fine.” She turned and walked away from him, toward his desk, her face flushed.
“Okay then. I’ll try to set up a telephone meet between you and one of my former colleagues. We’ll do it tonight at seven.”
She spun around to face him. “Seven?”
He turned to face her as well. “Yes, seven. Is something wrong with that?
“Well, I’ve got . . . I’ve got to . . . I’ve got another commitment at that time tonight.”
“Commitment?” he asked, sounding very much like Captain Brad Dunham, U.S. Marines.
“Yes, a, uh, commitment.”
“What kind of commitment? We’ve got to get going on this.”
Sonia’s eyes fell to the floor. She didn’t want to lie, but she knew how bad this would sound even before she said it. “I’ve got a date.” She wanted to say it was with one of the police offers involved with the case, but the words never came out.
He was finally starting to work with her as a colleague, at least a little bit. He had just let her off the hook on the hacking thing. And now she was telling him she couldn’t get the training she needed to accomplish the mission because she had a date. She waited for the explosion.
It never came. Sonia looked up and into Brad’s face. It was still without expression. He never said a thing about the date. Finally, he asked in his most professional and detached tone of voice, “Is there sometime tomorrow morning that would work for you?”
“Anytime. Anytime at all.”
“Okay,” he said, turning away from her. “I’ll check with my colleague and let you know what time the session will start. Bring your laptop and be ready to go.”
“Okay.” Yes, sir.
Brad stared silently at the computer. In her mind, she could all but hear him say it. Dismissed. She turned and started walking toward the door.
“One other thing,” soldier. “I’ve got some more good news for you.”
Sonia turned, hoping that this was not leading to some other dressing down.
“We’ve got Marcos Torres on video. It appears they’ve been laying low with the whole operation for a little while, probably because of Hensley’s death. But now that the deliveries have begun again, it seems like whoever is in charge thought it would be a good idea to get Marcos and the boys fully charged up. Earlier today the joy wagon showed up with four hookers. Trust me, a good time was had by all. We’ve got it all recorded.”
A smile lit up Sonia’s face. “That’s great.” Finally, some good news to bring to Jet. “Jet’ll be pleased. We’ll clear the case with Teresa Torres and get paid. That’ll certainly help when I’m asking Jet for assistance with the video feeds.”
“Hold on just a moment.” Brad motioned her back to a chair. “Let me ask you a question.” He sat down behind his desk. “Exactly what are you planning on telling Ms. Torres? ‘We’ve got your cheating boyfriend on video? You can see him boffing some whore? Oh, and by the way, we got the images because we’re getting video feeds from the farm while we investigate a drug operation and a possible murder? Please don’t mention to Marcos how it is that we have those images. And if you do, please ask him to not mention it to his employers.” His questions hung in the air.
Sonia was silent and stunned. She sat down in one of his chairs, leaning forward on its edge.
“I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to let Ms. Torres see those tapes.”
Sonia collapsed back into her chair. “Yeah, sure. I know you’re right. But she’s been calling for days, asking when we were going to . . . well, close the case, though those weren’t her exact words. I guess we’ll just have to put her off a bit longer.”
“Wrong. I’m afraid you’re going to have to call Ms. Torres. You’ll tell her that, after exhaustive surveillance, you’ve come to believe that Marcos is not having liaisons with other women.”
“What?” Sonia sat up and squirmed. “Why?”
“Because if you don’t, Ms. Torres is going to start poking around on her own. Right now, we can’t afford for the boys out at Dahlia Farm to have even the slightest notion that anyone is watching what they’re doing, not even Teresa Torres. You’ve got to shut down that whole operation. Agreed?”
She knew he was right. She knew she would have to call Teresa and tell her that Marcos was a real boy scout. Still, this was a killer for her. Now she was going to have to ask Jet fo
r help right after she tells her that they’re bailing on the Torres case. Sonia leaned back, unconsciously folding her arms. This sucks.
“Listen,” Brad said. “There’s one thing that might help sell this to Ms. Torres. You remember that I grew up here and spent a lot of time around horses? Well, I just happen to know that there’s a nice-smelling shampoo that stable hands use. It’s called Mane and Tail. Its fragrance is so strong that the horses smell almost as if they’re wearing women’s perfume. Some women even wash their own hair with it. You can at least try to sell Ms. Torres on the notion that that’s why Marcos comes home smelling like a French whore every once in a while.”
Sonia sighed, dropping her hands to her lap. It’s not much. At least that might give me a tiny bit of credence with Teresa. After all, she should be happy that a PI is telling her that her boyfriend is not running around on her. Of course, that’s not going to help a bit with Jet.
Letting out another big sigh, Sonia stood and walked toward the door. “Okay. Thank you,” she said softly. Suddenly, she remembered, however, they now knew what was coming out of the truck. They now knew that there was no Mid-West Feed and Hay Company. They now had Marcos on video having his way with one or more prostitutes. And someday, when this was all over, Sonia was going to go back to Teresa Torres and burn Marcos’ ass so bad he would wish he’d never left Mexico. Sonia put her hand on the doorknob and pulled. But for now, for now, I’m just going to go home and get ready for dinner. I simply don’t have the strength to face Jet right now.
23
Sonia heard footsteps on the stairs to her apartment and a knock on the door, Detective Sergeant Johnny Adams, picking her up for dinner. Right at six o’clock. Precisely as promised. Sonia checked herself in the mirror over the entry table near the door. Given her shapely body, dark brown hair, eyes the color of dark chocolate, and beautiful smile, Sonia could be quite stunning. Normally, she wore minimal makeup and did her hair in a casual, relaxed manner. When she wanted to, however─and tonight she wanted to─a little extra makeup and a little extra effort on her hair took her beyond attractive.
